I explained my thoughts. I cried while doing so. I plainly said,
“I was afraid.”
“Get it over with,” you said. “I’d be mad, but it's only for a while. Only you can live with it.”

How do I live with myself when I live in fear? When everyday of my childhood, you made avoidance look easy. You never accepted and saw the underlying reason. “Its bad. So don’t do it.”

That simple right?

And the shouting began.

I'd rather live with my lies than deal with your truth. Your truth consist of beating the topic to death. Forgive and forget you say? Where was that after I said sorry? When months, years pass by?

But you’re still mad.

And I am still afraid.